


must've been some kind of kiss

by obsessivelymoody



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: And in love, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Riding, eddie and richie are morons, lil bit of edging, smidge of jealous eddie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:35:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22807975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsessivelymoody/pseuds/obsessivelymoody
Summary: In which Richie wins an Emmy for his work onBarry, and Eddie wants to make him feel good.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 18
Kudos: 218





	must've been some kind of kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Another one of those fics where it was supposed to be a simple 1k of pwp but ended up being more than that. Anyway I hc that Eddie doesn't watch much TV and Richie has all of Bill Hader's filmography tyvm. Big shout out to Cait and Julie for cheerleading and honestly being the reason I wrote this.

It starts after he steps away to the bathroom. 

Usually, Eddie wouldn’t dare use any kind of communal bathroom. Can’t risk those kind of germs, even when the bathroom looks as clean and fancy as the one in the Vanity Fair Emmys after party venue. (Clean enough for some to do coke in sure, but absolutely not for Eddie to feel even close to comfortable peeing in). But after three glasses of champagne and four glasses of water to pace himself, his bladder can only hold so much. 

Richie pointed out the sign to the toilet, telling him he’d stay right in the same spot. Eddie squeezed his arm and was off. 

Eddie takes a while in the bathroom. He’s quite conscious of this; personal hygiene takes time and effort. He takes even longer in public spaces, something Richie never fails to tease him about. This time, he tries to get this over with as quickly as he can, eager to get back to Richie so they can make the promised fifteen minute round through the venue for appearances and go home. 

He leaves the toilet in what he’s sure is record time, thankfully spotting Richie’s mop of black curls over the crowd. And like he said, he’s standing in the same spot as before. Relief washes over Eddie, quickly replaced by that eagerness to get the fuck out of here as soon as they can. 

Which—almost immediately—is replaced by a twisting feeling in his gut. 

A woman stands with Richie, talking and smiling. Richie smiles back at her, so sweetly. He says something and she laughs, head tilted up to the ceiling. Her dark lipstick looks glossy, shining from the glow of the lights. Eddie narrows his eyes, feeling his pace pick up as the woman lays a hand on Richie’s arm. 

She rests her hand against his arm like it's the most natural thing in the world. She rests her hand against his arm in a way that first conveys the humour of whatever the fuck they're laughing at, that feeling that everyone knows well, where you're laughing so hard you need some kind of support from the other person, something to say _well isn't this fucking hilarious?!_ without actually needing to say it. 

But everyone knows the touch isn't supposed to last longer than a few seconds. No, it's much less _strictly_ friendly then. 

It takes Eddie twelve seconds to reach them. The women's hand stays on Richie's arm the whole time. 

"—truly brilliant." The woman is saying when Eddie reaches them. 

Richie chuckles. "What can I say? I believe I must be a _master_ in brilliance. But really the trick is just to try and train the little bitch out of me."

She laughs. It's a nice laugh too, objectively, so Eddie hates it. He feels that twist in his gut curl in further, shifting into something ugly. 

"Rich," Eddie says, grabbing his attention. 

They both look at him. The woman smiles, close-lipped. She drops her hand to her side. 

"Eduardo! That was fast."

"Was it?" Eddie says through gritted teeth. 

Richie laughs. "By your standards? Absolutely."

He huffs, and notices the woman looking expectantly between them. Richie does, too. 

"Oh fuck, sorry," He makes a face that can only connote ' _duh_ ' and gestures to Eddie. "Eva, this is my husband, Eddie. Eddie, this is Eva Longoria." 

He says her name like Eddie should know it, but no part of it rings any bells, and he's too busy trying to keep the growing fire in the pit of his stomach from raging too high.

"Oh! _You're_ the famous Eddie! How lovely to put a face to the name." She smiles at him, and it doesn't take a genius to see that she's just...genuinely sweet. 

It pisses Eddie off more. 

"Yes, his house arrest finally ended so I can take him out again," Richie sniffs and wipes a fake tear from his eye. 

He turns to him, horrified and ready to swiftly kick him in the shins. "Richie—"

He dodges Eddie, smirking. Eva laughs softly, still giving them both that sweet smile. 

"Always good to have someone you can laugh with," she says. "And on that note, I should probably figure out where my own husband has gone off to."

She opens her arms and Richie steps into the hug. "Always good to see you, Richie. And so nice to meet you Eddie!" 

He nods and smiles as politely as he can muster, and then she's off, disappearing into the growing throng of celebrities.

"Protecting my virtue, babe?" Richie says after a moment. 

"I—oh fuck you, Rich." 

"She has a husband, did you hear that?" Richie slides his hand down Eddie's bicep and links their arms. 

"And I cheated on my wife, what's your point?" 

Richie laughs, soft and deep. "I like it when you're possessive of me." 

He scoffs, and lets Richie walk them to the bar. They get stopped a few times on the way over, clearly by people who are important by the way Richie acts. All of them offer their congratulations to Richie, and none of them make an attempt to linger. It soothes the fire in Eddie’s gut, but his mind is still fixated on the way Eva’s hand lingered on Richie’s arm. Something flares in him when the image crosses his mind again. He wants to get the fuck out of here before something like that happens again.

Richie orders him an old fashioned, and himself a rum and coke. 

“You want to leave,” Richie says while the bartender fixes their drinks. 

It’s not a question. And Eddie knows he’s being a brat. 

“Thanks for pointing that out, Captain Obvious.” 

The bartender comes back with their drinks, and Richie leans in after they walk away. 

“You know I find you the _most_ fuckable when you act like this.” 

“You know you’re a fucking asshole, right?” 

Richie rolls his eyes, and drops his voice to almost a purr. “Let’s get out of here and you can show me how much you want me all to yourself.”

He can’t object to that, especially not when Richie is offering. He knocks back the rest of his drink, seeing Richie smirk out of the corner of his eye. 

*

The car ride back to their house is nothing short of agony. 

Richie’s hand lays on Eddie’s upper thigh through the whole trip. It makes him squirm, knowing that there isn’t too much more they can do without disturbing the driver or risk him seeing something if he glances into the rearview. 

Tension bubbles in him, though, and when they finally reach their house and the front door is shut behind them, Eddie crowds Richie up against the far wall in the entryway. 

“Fuck you,” Eddie says. “Seriously, fuck you.” 

“I’ve done nothing,” Richie says innocently. 

He narrows his eyes, sliding his hands up Richie’s chest, stopping to grip the lapels on his suit jacket. “You’re a smug son of a bitch, Richie.”

He gasps dramatically. “Don’t talk about Maggie like that!”

“I can’t fucking believe you,” Eddie says, leaning up to nip at Richie’s neck. 

“You keep saying that, Eddie my love, but you’re not telling me what I did—because I did nothing!”

Eddie pushes his hands into Richie’s suit jacket, lightly gripping his biceps as Richie shrugs it off. He toes off his own shoes, waits until Richie does the same, and drags him through the house. 

They stop in front of their bedroom door, where Eddie gets his mouth back on Richie’s neck and takes off his own jacket. 

His hands wander, finding their way to Richie’s belt buckle and work swiftly to get it undone, and then the zip on his pants. 

“Getting handsy there, sweetheart?” 

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Get with the program Richie, step out of your pants.” 

“Yessir!” He saluts, and Eddie opens their bedroom door. 

He walks in, working on the buttons on his shirt and tossing it—quickly followed by his pants—onto the little stool in front of their dresser. 

Richie comes up behind him, wrapping his arms around Eddie and kissing down his face. He feels his growing erection against his back and turns in Richie’s arms, kissing him fully. 

He tastes the lingering sweetness from the rum and coke he had before they left, and he grips his wrists, pulling him closer to where the bed is. 

Eddie pushes Richie onto the bed, crawling on after him. His fingers work swiftly on the rest of his shirt’s buttons, pushing it open the rest of the way. Richie shrugs out of it, and firmly grips Eddie’s hips as he runs his hands up his chest.

He leans down, sucking hot and wet against Richie's neck, not hard enough to leave a mark, but with enough pressure to drive him to buck his hips up against Eddie's. 

The friction feels so nice against his hardening cock, so he grinds down, grinning when Richie’s eyes practically roll into the back of his head. He runs his hands down Richie’s chest, scratching lightly through the soft hair. 

With one hand inching back up to rub a nipple, Eddie moves his other hand down until he reaches the elastic on Richie’s boxers. 

He teases his fingertips along the edge, slipping them in and out before finally reaching in and getting a hold on Richie’s dick. Richie’s almost completely hard, and it doesn’t take much more than a few strokes for Eddie to get him completely there, slick little beads of precome starting to leak at the top. 

Leaning forward, Eddie lets Richie slide out of his grip. He opens the bedside drawer, grabbing lube and a condom. 

“Watch me,” Eddie says, taking off his underwear. 

He squeezes lube into his hand and warms it between his fingers. He twists around, back now facing Richie. Eddie leans forward onto his elbows—careful to keep his lube-covered fingers hovering over the sheets—and arches his back, ass in the air.

Reaching the lubed up hand under him, Eddie presses his index finger to his hole and starts circling. 

He’d prepped earlier, knowing that winner or not he was still going to make sure they fuck tonight, but not much compares to the sound of Richie’s skin slapping together paired with his moans, and the feeling of pressing that first finger in. Eddie could get fucking wasted on it. 

And the feeling of being watch—god the feeling of being watched and _knowing it_ would be enough for Eddie to blow his load right now. Part of him knows that being watched like this, by his own choice, at his own discretion, is just a reclamation for all the years he spent under his mother’s chokehold. Being controlled and hovered over and made to feel shame at the tiniest pin drop of irregularity. But now Eddie’s here, and he’s having sex with a man and letting him watch him do this and so much more and—it’s freeing. It’s so fucking _freeing_. 

Though, it’s something they haven’t tried all too much, but Eddie thinks soon enough he’s going to find himself doing midnight shopping for a massive fucking mirror to mount on the far wall next to the bed. 

“God Eds, you make me want to fucking die,” Richie says. “Death by sex. No, orgasm. Death by orgasm. Has that happened before?”

“Beep fucking beep, Richie, my fingers are in my asshole stop talking about stupid shit.”

Richie sighs breathlessly. “Fuck yeah they are Eds, and I literally want this image tattooed on the inside of my eyelids.” 

Eddie decides to ignore this, rolling his eyes and pushing another finger in. He fucks himself for a bit, goosebumps appearing in waves over his skin each time his fingers brush over his prostate. 

Eventually, he knows he’s ready for more, and twists back around. He throws his leg properly over Richie's hips now, straddling him. 

Richie grabs his thighs just above the knees, his grip tightening as Eddie grabs his cock. He leans forward, letting himself relax over Richie while he aligns him against his hole, pushing back. 

He moves slowly, at a pace rivaled by snails, taking in that familiar, pleasurable stretch of Richie inside him. 

When he bottoms out he rocks his hips, taking his bottom lip between his teeth and biting down hard every time he pushes forward. It sends jolts of electric euphoria through his body, the pain with every dig into his bottom lip heightening it. 

Richie grunts so softly it’s almost a whimper, and Eddie leans down, hands on either side of his waist. He nips at Richie’s collarbone, lifting his hips. He pushes up until he feels the thickness of the head against his entrance. 

It sends a rush through him, tingling up his spine and into the pit of his belly. He thinks about the first time he rode Richie as he pushes his hips down, sighing against Richie’s chest as he fills him up. 

Eddie felt so in control, riding him. Richie pinned under the weight of his hips, gripped between his thighs and practically whimpering. 

And Richie loved it. He could tell, from the way he gasped and gripped at the sheets and barely said a fucking word. 

He was blissed out, looking much like he does now. Pupils blown out and perspiration gathering at his temples. If Eddie didn’t like the feeling of his dick in his ass so much, he would be able to get off on the way Richie looks in this moment alone. And to be quite honest, Eddie likes being fucked. But he likes being in control more, and well—this is the best of both. 

“Never thought I’d be able to say I can ride a big shot award winner anytime we want _and_ call him my husband one day,” Eddie pants, picking up the pace of his hips. “But here I fucking am, and god Rich, if you could see yourself—fuck.” 

Richie moans. “Eds—”

“My fucking talented fucking award-winning husband,” he leans down, sucking at the base of Richie’s neck. 

As he brings his hips up, he bites at his neck, hard enough to leave a mark, at least for a few hours. It’s just how Richie likes it, and the groan that follows is enough proof of that. 

When he feels the tip against his hole again, he pauses, relishing in the stretch for a moment. And then he starts to rock backwards and forwards, teasing the head of Richie’s cock against that tight ring of muscle. 

He gets his teeth back on Richie, nipping as he moves. Richie makes some kind of noise at the back of his throat, deep and almost primal, and Eddie takes that as his cue to fuck himself back down. 

"Oh _fuck me_ —"

"Yes," Eddie pants. "That's exactly what I'm trying to do."

“Jokes in bed are my job,” he says, moaning when Eddie presses his fingertips harder into Richie’s soft sides. 

Eddie picks up the pace of his hips, another jolt of euphoria shooting through him as Richie’s face flushes a deeper shade of red. He knows that means he’s getting close, and Eddie wants to feel every bit of that tonight. 

“You almost there, Rich? Ready to come for the first time as a fucking award winner? I’m so fucking proud of you, you know that?”

Richie whimpers and Eddie fucks himself down harder in response. 

“I’m so _proud_ of you and everything you’ve done, and how hard you’ve worked, and I love you. Nothing is going to change any of this, I love you and I’m proud of you, forever.” 

There’s a small chorus of _uh_ s coming from Richie, and Eddie pushes back down one last time, feeling Richie’s dick twitch inside him.

“Really—unh,” Richie manages. “Really getting good at that dirty talk, Spagedward.” 

Eddie scoffs, but smiles as he leans down to give Richie a kiss. He tastes like sweat and a bit like soda still, but he mostly just tastes like Richie, and that’s enough to get Eddie going again. 

He pulls off, laying next to Richie and getting a hand around himself. Richie looks at him, eyes asking if he wants any help with that (regrettably, Eddie can hear the horrible Voice Richie would do in his head), but Eddie says no. 

“I like it when you watch me,” he breathes out, and Richie bites his lip. 

Starting to get himself off, Eddie can see Richie watching from the corner of his eye. It makes his breath hitch in his chest, and the pace of his hand quicken on his cock. 

He flicks his wrist, twisting a bit on the upstroke. He gasps, despite himself, and a low sound comes from Richie. 

It’s encouraging, and Eddie feels the tension building up inside him, black spots starting to dance around his vision as he keeps stroking himself, until finally he feels the pressure release. 

Come stripes across his tanned torso in pearly white, and dribbles over his hand. 

“Well fuck,” Richie says. 

“I—yeah,” he replies, rather ineloquently. 

“Not to put shame on our wedding night,” Richie starts and Eddie sighs, leaning over the bed to pick up one of Richie’s discarded socks to wipe his hand on. “But that was stupid good, Eds.” 

“It’s supposed to be, dipshit,” he says, tossing the sock at Richie’s face. “You won a fucking Emmy, it’s a big deal.” 

Richie throws a hand over his forehead, and Eddie knows a Voice is coming on. “Oh Mr. Kaspbrak please, you forget yourself with that kind of provocative language!”

“You’re such a moron, Richie,” he says, shoving his side. He picks up the condom from where Richie tied and left it on the sheets, and swings his legs over the side of the bed. 

“Yeah, but I’m now an _Emmy award-winning_ moron,” he grins, and Eddie laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from (i just) died in your arms tonight by cutting crew.
> 
> You can like/reblog this on [tumblr](https://obsessivelymoody.tumblr.com/post/190919848267/mustve-been-some-kind-of-kiss-pairing-richie) if you want.


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